The Unexpected Visitor
by SimplyElymas
Summary: A mouse in a waistcoat teaches Holmes that sometimes the impossible cannot be eliminated. A humorous crossover with the Disney film The Great Mouse Detective. Intended purely for giggling purposes. One shot.


Dear Reader – I am aware Mrs. Hudson does not canonically have a cat. Also, Holmes here quotes Jean de la Fontaine. The translated version reads, "Nothing is so dangerous as an ignorant friend; a wise enemy is worth more." - SE

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"Have you got a match?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, have you got a match? I wouldn't bother you about it, but I'm quite bereft of them, and Mrs. Judson would run down to the tobacconist's, but she has a cold."

Sherlock Holmes ceased blowing smoke rings and looked up, a rare expression of puzzlement on his face. He hadn't realized he would be having a caller. But it was as he thought – there was no one in the parlor but Holmes himself, sitting snugly in his customary armchair.

"Down here, Mr. Holmes."

Holmes turned his eyes accordingly to the floor."

"A little more to your left."

The great detective was growing tired of this childish foolishness. As a precaution, he reached for the poker. It was still a little bent from the unfortunate business with Dr. Roylott, but that could not be helped. "Sir, whoever you may be, I ask that you cease playing silly games and reveal yourself."

"Oh, for pity's sake –"

Holmes felt a sharp tug at his dressing gown hem. Glancing down once more, he saw something completely impossible.

"It seems I must once again repeat myself," said the small, waistcoated talking mouse. "Have you got a match?"

"Yes," replied Holmes, eyebrows grazing his hairline. "I do have some matches." He propped his pipe up on the rack and reached up for the matchbox. Extracting one, he placed it on the floor before the minute impossibility that had suddenly entered his home.

"My thanks," said the mouse, and flipped the match onto one of its ends. It came up to his knee, and he might easily have used it as a walking stick. After the mouse struggled to strike it against the carpet for a good two or three minutes, Holmes ventured to offer him some assistance.

"Thank you," the mouse snapped derisively, "but I am quite all right on my own, Mr. Holmes."

"I am afraid you have the advantage of me. Pray, introduce yourself." Holmes extended one hand to shake, then remembered he was talking to mouse.

"Ah, thank you!" the mouse cried, grasping Holmes's thumb and hoisting himself up into the detective's palm. "I should like it if you might allow me to perch on the arm of your chair. Ah yes, thank you," he exclaimed as Holmes did so. "This way we can converse without myself always having to crane my neck."

"And you are. . ."

"Basil of Baker Street, my good fellow."

Not knowing what else to do, Holmes held out his index finger. Basil shook it, then added, in a rather sheepish tone, "I apologize for snapping at you. I see now that you are really a decent sort."

"Thank you. If I may inquire –"

"Inquire away," offered Basil magnanimously, cheerfully wrestling with a match as long as his shinbone.

"I was not aware that mice existed in quite the manner you appear to. And as I am not drunk or under the influence of narcotic, nor can I smell hallucinatory gasses in the room, you would seem to be real."

"Yes, I thought that might be your reaction," Basil said, finally giving up on the match and laying it to one side. "Allow me to explain –"

"Wait," Holmes interrupted. "I fancy you want the match for your pipe? I see a distinct meerschaum shaped bulge in your pocket – if mice do indeed use meerschaums. I too indulge in this most sublime of vices, so allow me to assist you with that match, and we shall smoke as we talk."

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"Really?"

"Oh, indeed."

"I had no idea it was all so sophisticated."

"Oh, yes," Basil grinned, but then his expression clouded.. "Unfortunately, with that sophistication comes crime."

"Crime. . ." Holmes clicked his tongue against his teeth. "It seems to be our common denominator."

"Too tell the truth," his companion admitted a little guiltily, "it's common to us in more ways than one. We share a profession, Mr. Holmes, and it was not purely for the sake of a match that I introduced myself to you."

Holmes sat up a little straighter, gray eyes widening in surprise. "You are a detective?"

"Well, yes. And to be honest, my enormous affection for my associate Dr. Dawson not withstanding, at times I long for more. . .scintillating conversation."

"Why, my dear fellow! How many times have I myself expressed those very sentiments!" Holmes leaned towards his newfound friend, a rare smile growing on his face. "Especially with the recent fatal fall taken by my most detested enemy, Professor Moriarty, crime in London has shrunk to an insanely incompetent little thing."

"Precisely!" Basil nearly dropped his pipe, so excited was he becoming. "In fact, my own nemesis took a bad fall as well of late. One Professor Ratigan, as it were."

"You astound me."

"You astound me. Tell me about your Moriarty."

Holmes's thin lips twisted with distaste. "A repugnant little man, quite snakelike and disgusting. And unfortunately utterly brilliant. Then again, rien n'est si dangereux qu'un ignorant ami; mieux vaudrait un sage."

"And Ratigan. . ." Basil's small frame almost shook with hatred. "He still infuriates me, even now that he's gone to meet his maker. A slimy, contemptible sewer rat, as I am given to terming him."

"A rat?"

"Oh, yes, a rat among mice. And the creatures he employed! A bat! A _cat!_"

"That must have been unpleasant for you, being as you are, no doubt."

"Oh, you've positively no idea." Basil rolled his eyes. "Felicia was it's name. Hideous thing. Overweight and –"

"Beg pardon – did you say Felicia?"

"Yes."

"Oh, dear me."

"What of it?"

"A sort of light brown creature, gluttonous, answers to a ringing bell?"

"Why, however did you know?"

"My dear Mr. Basil, you have been consorting with my landlady's formerly beloved cat."

"Oh my. Really?"

"Quite so. Of course, not long ago she disappeared. Poor Mrs. Hudson was devastated. We never did find out what had happened. . ."

"Well," Basil said, looking slightly ill, "I believe I can explain that to you. . .Felicia had an unfortunate incident with the queen's hounds."

"Oh _dear."_

"Mmm."

Mouse and man stared incredulously at each other for some moments, Basil puffing quietly away at his pipe. It was the mouse who burst into laughter first, but Holmes quickly followed suit. After a few moments of companionable hilarity, Basil happened to glance at the mantelpiece clock and gave an alarmed squeak.

"Oh, no! I am abominably late for the train! Dawson and I were to be off to Denbigh an hour ago about the field mice burglaries!" He hopped haphazardly down from the armchair. "Pleasure to meet you, I'm sure, Mr. Holmes, but I must dash!"

As Basil skittered like a madman to his hole, Holmes called out to stop him. "Will you wait a moment?"

The great mouse detective turned, a slightly irritated look on his furry face. "Yes?"

"You will call again? I should enjoy your company."

The expression of aggravation melted from Basil's face. "Oh, certainly, my friend," he grinned, "I should be happy to. Until the next time, then!"

"Indeed. Best of luck with your field mice."

"And good luck to you with whatever case is presently requiring you to assume your disguise as an old man."

Holmes started, but Basil only smiled. "Absurdly simple. You still have a ridge of adhesive on your chin from the beard attachment. And there's talcum powder on your sleeve, old man." As Holmes brought his hand to his jaw line, Basil tipped his hat and disappeared into the hole.

Sherlock Holmes returned to his pipe happily, with only one not entirely undesirable thought lingering in his mind – that perhaps he was not, as he had always claimed, the greatest detective in London.


End file.
